


through the woods we ran (deep into the mountain sound)

by echoes_of_realities



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, F/F, Mountain Sound!Verse, this is probably the Most Self-Indulgent thing I've Ever started not even gonna lie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-02-29 04:29:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18771205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoes_of_realities/pseuds/echoes_of_realities
Summary: Brittany knows she’s not supposed to fall for her, she knows that, but it’s like— It’s like trying not to breathe; no matter how long she tries to hold her breath she eventually has to give in.It’s not something she could have ever controlled; in fact, it’s something she wouldn’t mind erasing because it would be so much easier to just quietly pine after Lady Santana from afar rather than working as her personal guard and vassal—which is both the best thing to ever happen to her and the worst kind of torture.Or: A collection of Mountain Sound!Verse





	1. though far away, though far away, we’re still the same

**Author's Note:**

> ~~Listen….. you don’t know How Long I’ve wanted to write a fic for literally Any fandom with _King and Lionheart_ and _Mountain Sound_ by Of Monsters and Men as inspiration. Like….. basically for as long as that album has been out.~~ Anyways, there was a collection of prompts I received that definitely didn’t fit in canon, and didn’t fit in my other two au verses I do prompts for, so guess who created a new au just for those four-ish prompts LOL. 
> 
> All chapter titles will be from an Of Monsters and Men song.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: 41. Forbidden Kiss

Brittany knows she’s not supposed to fall for her, she _knows_ that, but it’s like— It’s like trying not to breathe; no matter how long she tries to hold her breath she eventually has to give in.

It’s not something she could have ever controlled; in fact, it’s something she wouldn’t mind erasing because it would be so much easier to just quietly pine after Lady Santana from afar rather than working as her personal guard and vassal—which is both the best thing to ever happen to her and the worst kind of torture.

Lord Julio figured that a female guard would be far more subtle and attract less attention than some hulking knight following Lady Santana around, and having a female guard also meant that there would be no rumours of inappropriateness circulating among the gossiping staff. 

Which would all be fine assuming that Brittany didn’t, you know, go and fall in love with the woman she was charged with protecting.

And it’s not like she’s just pining after some beautiful noble lady, because she _knows_ Lady Santana, has since they were kids; and they’ve only gotten closer since Brittany was named her personal guard. Lord Julio had insisted that Brittany always be in the same room—or at least, in an adjacent room—as his daughter, which means that Brittany has a small bed in a partially sectioned off corner of Lady Santana’s room. Brittany would consider them close friends if it weren’t for the fact that she’s technically a servant to Lady Santana and her family.

And that’s the problem right there. Brittany _knows_ Lady Santana because they kind of grew up together, what with the fact that Brittany’s uncle is the Captain of the Lopez family guard. Her and Santana used to terrorize the castle together when they were kids and too young to realize how different their titles were, always getting into trouble and out of it with two innocent smiles. Until Brittany’s uncle, with no children of his own, decided that his niece would be the one to uphold the family legacy as vassals of the Lopezes and he sent her off to start battle training while Santana started training to take over for her father, meaning that they didn’t see each other for years. When Brittany finally came back, it was to a young woman who was the same girl she grew up with in private but the new aloof and distant Lady Santana in public.

So Brittany _knows_ she’s not supposed to fall in love with her.

And in line with that idea, she’s also pretty sure she isn’t supposed to be kissing Lady Santana, but like, Santana’s lips are so soft and sweet from the apples that Brittany can barely remember her own name, let alone force herself to stop for something as trivial as social hierarchy.

Lady Santana felt like going apple picking so the cook could make some pie—which sent a tiny thrill through Brittany because Lady Santana doesn’t even like pie, but apple pie just so happens to be Brittany’s favourite—so they’re completely alone again, which means that Lady Santana is back to being just her Santana.

Her Santana is snarky and teasing and affectionate where Lady Santana is proper and austere and just a little bit mean; her Santana isn’t afraid to get her breeches dirty in the spring mud or tickle Brittany until she can’t breathe or nap in a patch of sunlight on the cool grass. 

The groove is still technically on the castle grounds, which means they still have to be careful, although no one but them ever go out here anyways, and the tree trunks and surrounding bush grow so closely together that it’s impossible to even really see the small apple groove, let alone spot two girls inside.

“The best apples grow at the top,” Santana says as she eyes the abundance of fruit far away from the picked over lower branches. 

“Oh no,” Brittany says instantly, “No way. Your father will straight up kill me if I let you climb an apple tree.”

“He’ll never know,” Santana protests.

“He will when you come back covered in leaves,” Brittany corrects, reaching over to pluck a small collection of them from Santana’s dark hair, “Or when you come back with a broken arm.”

“But the best apples,” Santana pouts.

Brittany sighs dramatically and lets her head loll back, squinting up at the sun and wondering why she even bothers pretending that she won’t do anything for Santana. She reluctantly reaches for her belt and unbuckles it, handing her sheathed sword and the leather belt to Santana, who takes it with a knowing grin. Brittany crosses to the tree that looks the easiest to climb, only to be stopped by Santana bouncing up on her tiptoes to kiss Brittany’s cheek in thanks, her breath smelling of the sweet apples they’ve been sharing all afternoon.

She blushes the entire time she climbs the tree, and she blushes all the way through her fall when a branch snaps and she tumbles out of the tree in a rain of leaves and apples.

“Brittany!” 

Brittany blinks in a daze, seeing about three Santana’s swimming above her. She groans as the Santana’s converge back into a single one, her dark eyes wide and her brows drawn together in panic, long waves of hair blocking out the sun around them. “You’re cute when you’re worried,” Brittany mumbles. 

Cool fingers flutter across her still flushed cheek, dancing around to the back of her head to check for blood before cupping Brittany’s jaw when she finds none. “You’re insane,” Santana says fondly, “Why would you climb so high?”

“You said the best apples were at the top,” Brittany explains simply, “So I wanted to get the best apples for you.”

Santana’s eyes soften and melt, and Brittany only manages a small smile before Santana is kissing her, soft and sweet and yearning. Brittany gasps into her mouth because she’s still a little dizzy from her fall and not altogether convinced that she didn’t just knock herself out and is dreaming this now. But Santana’s lips are firm and insistent against hers, and while she knows that there’s a list a league long about how inappropriate this is—starting with the fact that Santana is a _Lady_ and she’s the daughter of a widowed and then remarried launderer—she can’t come up with any reason to protest.

Santana is smiling when she pulls away, the sun unable to shine through the thick curtain of Santana’s dark hair around them, cocooning them in their own little world. “You’re cute when you’ve been kissed senseless,” Santana whispers, and Brittany can’t do anything but catch Santana’s lips with her own and try and make herself look even cuter.


	2. some days I don’t know if I am wrong or right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: 56. Caught Off-Guard Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God trying to figure out au personalities in these short little prompts where I have no planning done is Hard so please bear with me while I settle into this new verse and figure characterizations within this au out

After that first kiss in the apple groove, Brittany can’t stop thinking about Santana’s lips, how soft they were, how warm they were, how perfect they felt moving against her own. No one suspects anything about where Brittany’s thoughts keep straying as of late, because Lady Santana is always the picture of propriety in public and Brittany is always the picture of professionalism as well, an ever silent and constant shadow over Santana’s shoulder. However despite their distance in public, there’s little else on her mind other than Santana these days—whether in terms of her protection or in terms of her sweet kisses—and it’s nearly driving her to distraction.

But it’s not, because she finds that ever since that afternoon in the apple groove she’s even more determined to protect her than before. Especially because there are whispers of movement at the edges of the Lopezes lands. The Lopezes had long been valued for their loyalty to the royal family, and in return they were given extra favours at court and a large swath of land with plentiful farmlands and resources in return for holding a key mountain pass on the border with a neighbouring kingdom, a kingdom that had always been vying for more land. Brittany’s uncle had taken her aside a couple days ago to warn of possible spies and scouts caught moving throughout the Lopezes lands; he had already placed the guards in the castle and village on high alert, doubling the Lord and Lady’s protection and sending out messengers to ready the vassals in the surrounding countryside. He warned Brittany to be extra vigilant and added two knights to her aid her in protecting Santana, which means she’s been spending most of her nights wide awake and sitting against the wall beside Santana’s balcony because she remembers Finn and Puck from their days as simple recruits and she doesn’t as far as she can throw them. 

The strategic part of Brittany can’t help but admire the opportune timing of their neighbours; with Lord Julio currently bedridden with a sudden illness, their neighbours couldn’t have picked a better time to stir up trouble. The rest of Brittany curses them to hell and back because if anything happened to Santana or her family she would gladly fall on her own sword. Most of the castle staff and residents—including Lady Maribel and Santana—are none the wiser to what exactly is going on; they are aware of the rumours that there’s trouble on the border, but they don’t know exactly how terrifyingly close to the village that enemy spies have been spotted. Brittany’s uncle has already sent a messenger to the royal court too, just in case something does happen, though he admitted that it’s probably nothing to worry the king over. Despite all his reassurances, Brittany can feel something coming; there’s a change on the winds brewing like the black clouds gathering on the horizon that promise a devastating thunderstorm. 

She just hopes that she’s ready for it.

But being ready for it also means being more focused, which means being distant around not just Lady Santana, but _her_ Santana too. She refuses Santana’s requests to wander the village or go apple picking, just the two of them like they’ve always done, and while the rejection that always flashes across Santana’s face makes her chest ache, just the thought of failing to protect Santana and losing her damn near brings her to her knees, her chest clenching until she can barely breathe for how her heart shatters.

So she becomes more vigilant, and in return Lady Santana becomes even more aloof and harsh. Brittany knows that Santana always lashes out when she’s hurt, but she’ll gladly have Santana’s sharp tongue directed at her every second of every day if it means that she’s _safe_. 

So Brittany catalogues every face they come across, allows her hand to drift to the hilt of her sword more often than usual, makes sure that Santana always carries her dagger with her, shadows Santana from a couple feet away instead of her usual respectable distance, places herself between Santana and every person who she deems suspicious—which is basically everyone she hasn’t known her whole life.

It’s exhausting, but even when she does finally abandon her post by the balcony doors and crawls in to bed after spending all day tense with the knowledge of _something_ about to happen, she finds that she can’t shut her mind off, that she can’t relax enough to sleep because something could happen to Santana every time she closes her eyes. 

It’s after a particularly long day of being Santana’s shadow and listening to Santana grow more and more snappy and distant that Santana finally confronts her. 

Brittany’s been at her post at the balcony doors since Santana crawled into bed without so much as a goodnight. She had figured that Santana was long asleep, and only realized different when a gentle hand on her cheek startled her awake. 

“How long have you been sitting here?” Santana whispers. The open curtains on the balcony window casts a moonbeam across Santana’s face, illuminating her captivating dark eyes and making something in Brittany’s stomach shift and flutter. 

“I— Uh,” Brittany blinks and winces a little, trying to shake herself out of her Santana-induced stupor. “Just since you fell asleep.”

Santana’s thumb runs across her cheek, brushing across the dark circles under Brittany’s eyes that have only been worsening as the days go on. “What’s going on?” she asks, furrowing her brow, “And act like there’s not. I’m not stupid.”

Brittany gulps because, this close and this sleep-deprived, she can’t come up with an actual answer. So instead she does what she always does when faced with a difficult situation, she makes it up as she goes. “I wonder when they started calling musicians bards.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, cause like when my uncle says ‘bard’ he means warhorse flank armour, but when my mom says ‘barded’ it means she wants you to put fat bacon on game meat before she starts roasting it, and your family always means some man with too colourful of clothing playing a lute or—”

She’s cut off by those soft lips she can’t stop thinking of sealing desperately over hers. Brittany doesn’t respond for a long moment while she tries to process the woman falling into her lap and trying to devour her. The the last of her sleepiness dissipates at the whimper that escapes Santana when Brittany slips her tongue past Santana’s lips and clutches at her waist, only Santana’s thin nightgown separating her from soft, warm skin.

Santana doesn’t remove herself from Brittany’s lap when she pulls away, glowing and _beautiful_ in the moonlight, like some sort of goddess bestowing her coveted affection on a mere mortal.

“What was that for?” Brittany says once she manages to find her voice.

Santana’s eyes are somehow both warm and calculating all at once. “I wanted to make sure that you still— I mean after the apple groove you started to get distant and I started to think that you—”

“No,” Brittany says fiercely, “It’s not that. That afternoon was like, all of my dreams coming true. Don’t ever think I regretted even a second of that day.”

Santana sighs in relief and settles more firmly into Brittany’s lap, kissing her quickly before Brittany can respond. “So then why have you been avoiding me since then?” Santana’s lips quirk up in a wry smile. “Or as much as you can avoid me while still being my shadow.”

Brittany hesitates even as her heart clenches in guilt; it’s not like she _wants_ to keep everything from Santana, but she doesn’t have much of a choice at the moment. “I’m just— I didn’t want anyone to suspect anything out of the ordinary."

“No, that’s not it. There’s something you’re not telling me,” Santana says, brushing her thumb across Brittany’s cheek again, her smile soft and worried. She looks more open than Brittany has ever seen her and she wonders if it’s the protection of the darkness that’s loosening Santana’s tongue. “But I won’t push it. I just want— Just please stop pulling away from me and I’ll stop snapping at you. I can’t—” she struggles with her words for a moment, squeezing her eyes shut before admitting everything so quickly her words all run together in her rush, “I care about you and I really hate it when you shut me out.”

Brittany lets out a sigh of relief, her nose nudging Santana’s while she focuses on calming her racing heartbeat. “I’m sorry,” she breathes, waiting until Santana’s eyes flutter open to continue, “I know I’ve been all weird lately but I just— I won’t— I _can’t_ lose you, Santana. I _can’t_. You’re like my best friend and I— I wouldn’t survive it.”

“And you think I could?” Santana accuses softly. “Brittany, it’s—”

“No, I know,” Brittany interrupts, “It’s just— There’s something coming. Something bad. I can feel it. I have to focus on protecting you, not—”

Santana sighs, tilting her head forward so she can kiss Brittany, all soft and sweet and just a little bit desperate. “I don’t want you to lose yourself protecting me,” she murmurs, pressing their foreheads together, the waver in her voice causing Brittany’s heart to crack, “You’re my snarky, playful, brave knight in shining armour. I can’t lose that.”

Brittany sucks in a deep breath as her resolve to keep Santana at arms length in order to keep her safe crumbles around her. “I missed you,” she whispers before surging forward to kiss Santana with every bit of feeling she’s kept locked inside these past few days. 

“Promise me you’ll stop pushing me away,” Santana mumbles.

“I promise,” Brittany sighs into Santana’s mouth, cautiously letting her hands roam Santana’s warm back, growing more confident and daring when Santana just presses further into her.

The first crack of thunder breaks the still night, but Brittany just kisses Santana harder and hopes that she just made a promise she’ll be able keep.


	3. you’re my king and I’m your lionheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: 17. Needing to kiss to hide from bad guys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got Way longer than intended whoops

Now that Santana’s talked—or, rather, _kissed—_ some sense into her, she manages to actually relax enough to get more than just a couple hours of sleep each night despite the worry eating at her after her uncle tells her that the messengers he sent to the king have all disappeared. She stays just as vigilant but she stops jumping at every little thing, and she’s not as afraid of them leaving the relative safety of the castle, and she stops pulling away from Santana, which actually does wonders for her ability to sleep at the end of the night (the sweet kisses Santana gives her don’t hurt either). 

Which is how Santana manages to convince Brittany to head down to the village at the crack of dawn, wanting to stretch her legs in the surprisingly warm spring air and get some new fabric to practice her embroidery on. She’d never been the best at it, more likely to be tumbling around on the grass with Brittany and the other children of the castle staff than learning her way around a needle, so Brittany has no clue why the sudden interest, but she finds herself yawning as she buckles her sword belt around her waist regardless. The sound of metal on leather is comforting as she slides her sword into its scabbard, adjusting the belt on her hips and turning to put her cloak on next but finding it gone from her bed.

“Santana?” she calls.

There’s no answer and panic bites at Brittany’s heart despite the fact that she could hear Santana getting dressed not a minute ago. She spins around only to find Santana standing in the middle of her chamber, dressed in breeches and one of Brittany’s loose shirts with her own cloak tied neatly around her neck, holding Brittany’s missing one up with a smirk.

“Sneaky,” she says even as her heart refuses to slow its panicked pounding.

Santana just tilts her head, her smirk widening as Brittany closes the distance between them. She wraps the cloak around Brittany’s shoulders, nimble fingers knotting it at the front before smoothing the fabric on her shoulders down. “Ready to go?” Brittany sighs in dramatic reluctance and nods. “Oh hush you,” Santana scolds, bouncing up on her toes to softly kiss Brittany _good morning_.

Brittany hums and chases Santana’s lips for a moment before relenting and pulling away so they can leave. Finn and Puck are asleep at the door and Brittany rolls her eyes. Santana accidentally kicks them awake as they pass, and they startle and jump to attention but Santana and Brittany are already around the corner and out of sight. 

They spend the morning looking through all the vendors set up in the market, taking their time and enjoying the warm morning sun and each other’s company. Even though Santana’s dressed not to draw attention to herself, the villagers all know exactly who she is; luckily, they all keep quiet, though both women already know they’re going to be the centre of the village gossip by by sunset.

It’s when Santana is in the middle of reminiscing on terrorizing the village as children that Brittany notices them first. She quickly takes stock of their slight unease, the strange bulge under their cloaks, the calculating glint in their eyes as they study the village.

The storm Brittany’s been anxiously anticipating ever since her uncle first warned her finally breaks, and she takes half a second to inwardly curse before she’s springing into action. She quickly grabs Santana and shoves her against the nearest wall, pressing her body tightly against Santana’s to pin her there and leaning in to kiss her forcefully enough that Santana has no time to react. Brittany’s eyes remain wide open as she watches the two men’s gaze pass over Brittany’s back with a small snicker before they continue cataloguing the village layout. Santana’s hands clutch at Brittany’s hips, her protests muffled by Brittany’s mouth, before she manages to get a little space between their bodies and tear her lips away from Brittany.

“What in God’s name are you _thinking_?” Santana hisses indignantly, her eyes darting fearfully all around them for villagers who might have seen them and who might, more terrifyingly, spread rumours that her parents might hear.

Brittany’s hot breath hits Santana’s ear as she leans closer, pressing them both further into the wall and hiding Santana with her body. “Those are Athian scouts walking past us,” she hisses. Santana tenses against her, fingers digging painfully into Brittany’s hips as her fear morphs into something entirely different. “The fact that they’re here is not good,” Brittany continues, “Not good at all.” Unmoving lips are on Santana’s before she can respond, and Brittany quickly tilts her head so that Santana’s face remains hidden as she listens to the footsteps behind her. She trails kisses to Santana’s jaw so she can watch the scouts walk out of sight.

She shudders out a breath of relief and pulls away from Santana, her blue eyes dark and calculating, tugging the hood of Santana’s cloak up until her face is partially hidden in shadows. “We need to get out of here,” she says urgently, not even waiting for an answer before grabbing Santana’s hand and dragging her in the opposite direction of the scouts.

“We’ll be okay as long as we make it back to the castle,” Santana manages to say, stumbling after Brittany. After a long moment of silence she swallows thickly and squeezes Brittany’s hand. “Right?” 

Brittany takes a deep breath but doesn’t answer, just mutters a quiet _c’mon_ as she hurries them onward. She escapes to the eastern tree-line and drags them into the cool shadows. She casts her glance over the path they just walked. She spots another— _different—_ scout heading south, towards the other tree-line there, and follows his intended path with careful eyes as her free hand grips the hilt of her sword. 

There’s movement in the trees. 

And a _lot_ of it. 

She curses loudly, not caring that she’s right beside Santana, before turning on her heel and dragging them a little deeper into the woods. She hurries them along a game trail and quickly starts planning the best route for what she knows she’s going to have to do.

The first scream makes Santana jump and gasp, her nails digging into Brittany’s arms as she stares in the direction of the village. Brittany barely reacts other than to pick up their pace. “That was—” Santana starts with a wavering voice, but cuts herself off as more screams join the first, the sound of fighting growing loudly as they walk. “The village— My family—”

Brittany can’t think about that, so she stays silent instead. She has one job and one job only, and that’s to keep Santana safe. 

No matter the cost.

Their destination is the stables which are, thankfully, on the outskirts of the castle grounds—so that the horses are closer to the blacksmith—which means that it’s practically abandoned by the time her and Santana reach it, everyone else having already fled or joined the fray. The sound of metal clashing on metal at the castle is distant, but the screams of panicked villagers is still ringing in their ears as Brittany tugs them inside the stable.

The horses are all tense and on alert, their ears twitching as watch the two women pass them. Brittany ignores them all and heads for the farthest stall where her uncle’s Andalusian gelding is calmly regarding them. “In there on the left is a pack I need you to grab,” Brittany quickly directs Santana as she points to a door a couple feet away, “It’s impossible to miss. Take it and the leather pouch and the black bag beside it, okay?”

Santana’s frozen to the spot, and Brittany quickly steps forward and rubs her palms up and down Santana’s arms, waiting until wide, horrified brown eyes meet hers. Brittany leans forward and kisses her on the forehead. “Okay?” Brittany repeats quietly. They don’t really have time for this—comforting Santana will have to come later—but having Santana in shock will make things so much harder and more dangerous. 

Santana’s eyes desperately search Brittany’s for a moment that feels like it lasts hours with the adrenaline pumping through Brittany’s system, but eventually something shifts in those brown eyes and Santana nods. Brittany quickly moves to grab the tack outside the stall, opening the door and saddling her uncle’s horse quicker than she’s ever done before, untying her scabbard and strapping it to the saddle. Santana, weighted down by the packs she just retrieved, appears in the door of the stall just as Brittany tightens the last strap. She grabs the supplies without saying a word and straps them to the saddle before swinging up onto the horses back and offering a hand out to Santana.

She hesitates, glancing back in the direction of the castle even through the stable walls. The sounds of fighting has gotten closer in the time they’ve already taken in the stable, but Brittany knows exactly what Santana’s thinking. “My ma and my sister are— And my uncle’s probably—” she swallows thickly and shakes her head almost violently, “But we can’t think about that. Not right now. We have to get you to safety.” Santana starts to protest but Brittany just shakes her head desperately again. “I know how cowardly it feels right now but you _have_ to survive. We have to make it out so we can get to the king and warn him of this attack. This isn’t just a small border tiff or anything we’ve seen before. This is much, much bigger.”

Santana finally nods and takes Brittany’s hand. “Keep your feet as far forward as possible,” she says as she tugs Santana up, “And just let your body balance. Don’t try to fight it.”

Santana lets out a startled noise as Brittany kicks their mount into motion, throwing her arms desperately around Brittany’s torso. She allows Santana to cling to her because, even though she knows it’s dangerous to their balance, they both need the contact right now. 

They burst from the stables to the surprise of some enemy soldiers making their way to the castle. Brittany cuts a path through them, taking advantage of their shock to trample as many as she can before fleeing the village.

Luckily, the thick trees surrounding all sides of the village and castle meant that their invaders couldn’t bring a calvary force in, but Brittany and their mount know the land well, and they’ve been trained for this terrain unlike the enemy soldiers. Brittany urges her uncle’s horse along, weaving through the trees until they’ve left the village and pursuing enemy soldiers far behind, but she still doesn’t slow.

“Where are we even going to go?” Santana shouts above the wind.

“I have no idea,” Brittany admits, “But wherever we end up I swear on my life that I’ll keep you safe.”

Santana doesn’t answer, but she tightens her arms around Brittany’s torso and buries her head in her back as the only home they’ve ever known rush past them in a blur of greens and browns.


	4. alone we travelled on, with nothing but a shadow, we fled far away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: 68. A Hoarse Whisper “Kiss Me”

Brittany pushes all three of them harder than she usually would, but given the circumstances she figures that it’s understandable. She does slow her uncle’s horse down to a walk once they’re nearing the farmlands a couple leagues from the village though, because she doesn’t want to run him to the ground. She’ll have her and Santana walk to give him a break tomorrow, and hopefully she’ll be able to come up with a plan by then too.

The Athian force that descended upon the castle and village weren’t just a small group of soldiers for a border skirmish—something that the people living in the castle and village were all to familiar with, living on valuable borderlands and all; from what Brittany could see as they fled, the attacking army was built for a full scale invasion. Which explained why all of her uncle’s scouts and messengers seemed to have disappeared into thin air as soon as they were dispatched, the Athians wouldn’t have wanted any word of their movement to reach anyone important. Just the thought of what they might be facing is enough to make Brittany’s head pound. She’s just barely out of being a teenager and now she’s trying to simultaneously figure out how to alert the rest of the kingdom of the invasion _and_ protect the marquess’ daughter.

(Brittany tries not to think too hard about the fact that Santana might very well be the sole Marchioness of Pegany now. She also tries not to think too hard about the fact that both of them might very well be the only people remaining in their family’s lineages.)

“You okay?” Santana asks softly, interrupting Brittany’s darkening thoughts.

Brittany swallows thickly, trying to shake herself out of her own mind, and casts a small smile at Santana over her shoulder, her braid falling forward to rest over her collarbone. “What’s your definition of okay? Because based on that I might be just peachy.” Santana gives a dry laugh as she adjusts her hold on the back of the saddle, and Brittany’s smile widens a little bit. “I’ll be fine. How are you holding up?”

“I can’t feel anything below my hips at all,” Santana says mildly, a smirk playing at her lips, and then just as suddenly her face falls. “Though that seems like a foolish thing to complain about now.”

Brittany leads the horse with one hand on the reins, using her now free hand to tangle Santana’s fingers with her own where they rest gently on her stomach. “We can’t think about that now.”

“And when will be the right time to do so?” Santana challenges harshly, though she tightens her fingers around Brittany’s all the same.

“I don’t know,” Brittany answers honestly, “But we have to at least get to safety first. Andthen we have to figure out what to do next.” Santana lets out a shaky breath, hot air tickling the nape of Brittany’s neck; Brittany can feel the anger ebb out of Santana’s body where they’re partially pressed together. “And then,” Brittany bites her lip to try and contain the emotion in her voice, “Then we can grieve.”

“We might not even have to grieve,” Santana murmurs, but she doesn’t sound like she even believes herself.

“I hope you’re right,” Brittany whispers, “More than anything, I hope you’re right.”

They fall silent as her uncle’s horse weaves through the trees, both of them trying not to think too hard about what they managed to escape, but both of them failing. 

They’re nearing the marshes by the time the sun starts to set, and Brittany figures they’ve probably travelled about ten leagues since fleeing the village that morning. She’s pretty sure she won’t feel safe even with the whole kingdom of Lima between them and the Athian army, but they all need to rest. Thankfully, they can move much faster and farther than an army, so Brittany figures that they’ll be safe for the night at least. She finds a tiny clearing just as the sun is starting to touch the horizon, knowing that she’ll have to be quick about setting up camp.

“Think you can get off yourself?” Brittany teases Santana, suddenly breaking the silence.

Santana pinches Brittany’s hip and she doesn’t have to look back to know Santana’s rolling her eyes right now. Brittany grins and stills the horse while Santana expertly slides down; she’s been riding horses for much longer than Brittany has despite Brittany’s more intensive training, but Brittany still likes to tease her anyways.

Santana’s legs wobble as she hits the ground, steadying herself on Brittany’s leg until Brittany slides off herself. “God that’s gonna hurt in the morning,” Brittany groans. 

“Poor baby,” Santana mockingly pouts. Brittany grins and turns to pull the two sleeping rolls off the saddle and directs Santana to set them up. She had packed enough for the two of them to escape if needed as soon as her uncle first warned her of the rumours, knowing that if it came down to it she had the most important job of all the Lopezes’ vassals—she had to keep Lady Santana, the only heir to the March of Pegany, alive no matter what. It didn’t matter if the current Marquess and Marchioness died, as long as their heir remained alive.

Brittany pulls a small shovel from the pack before scanning the ground. Normally, untacking her horse would be the first thing Brittany did, but with twilight quickly covering the clearing she knows that a fire is their priority. She quickly finds a good spot to start digging a fire pit. They may be leagues away from the Athian army, but who knows what other enemies smoke might attract. The Lopezes are fair rulers of their march, but that doesn’t mean they have no enemies, and Lady Santana, even if she is travel dirty and wearing breeches, is still fairly recognizable. 

As soon as Santana is done setting up the sleeping rolls, she turns to start untacking the horse without Brittany even needing to ask, which is about reason a billion that Brittany kind of really loves her, even if she isn’t really supposed to.

Her uncle’s gelding is one of the handsomest horses Brittany’s ever seen, with a smooth tawny coat and deep chestnut flecks along his flanks and black markings on his forehead. Santana sets the different packs on the ground before carefully untying Brittany’s scabbard. She places the sheathed sword by the sleeping rolls before moving on to the bridle, and then pulling the saddle off and setting it to the side.

“What’s his name?” Santana asks as she runs a hand along his neck.

Brittany smiles from where she’s now piling kindling into the fire pit. “Lord Tubbington,” she answers with a grin. 

Santana chokes on a laugh and turns incredulously to Brittany. “Your uncle, a man I _swear_ never smiled until I was like eight, named his war horse Lord Tubbington?” she laughs.

Brittany’s grin widens and she shakes her head. “He let me name him. I was like four. We call him Tubbs for short.”

“That’s adorable,” Santana decides, cooing over the war horse, “You’re the least tubby horse I’ve ever seen.” Lord Tubbington soaks in the attention, eyeing Brittany over Santana’s head with a glint in his eyes. He seems to be gloating, rubbing Santana’s attention in Brittany’s face, but Brittany just smirks because only one of them gets to kiss Santana, and it sure isn’t the one on four legs. Santana finds a cloth and pours a little bit of water from a canteen onto it to rub Tubbs down, starting at his neck and going over his flanks, before sneaking him a treat she found while Brittany was pulling out dried meat and berries from the pack. “You’ll get a full pampering once we’re able to, I promise,” she whispers, much to Tubbs’ excitement.

Brittany’s breath catches as she watches Santana bond with Tubbs. The flickering firelight catches in Santana’s hair, making shadows dance across her dark waves. Her cloak has long been abandoned by their packs, leaving her in breeches and the loose shirt she stole from Brittany earlier, the white fabric turning silver in the moonlight. Santana’s by far the most incredible and beautiful woman Brittany’s ever known, and just for a moment she feels selfishly relieved that Santana’s status means that she is safe here with her, far away from the danger they fled. The self-reproach follows soon after, flaring in her chest and making it hard to breathe, her limbs going numb with guilt.

Santana drops down onto the sleeping roll Brittany’s sitting on, huddled close to the fire pit. She takes a strip of dried meat and bites down on it with a thoughtful hum.

“Stop beating yourself up,” she chides softly.

Brittany shouldn’t even be surprised that Santana could read where her thoughts were. “How’d you know?” she croaks.

“Because I know you,” Santana whispers. A cool hand cups Brittany’s jaw as Santana gently turns her face until blue eyes meet brown. “You said we can’t focus on that now, so take your own advice and stop doing that to yourself.”

“Kiss me,” Brittany begs hoarsely, her voice barely above a whisper.

Santana’s eyes flicker in the firelight for a moment before warm lips are against hers. It’s partially desperate and partially heartbroken, but, mostly, it’s tender and comforting.

Brittany’s heart starts to beat again, and feeling floods her numb limbs. Her fingers dig into Santana’s hips hard enough to bruise, and Santana clutches at Brittany’s shoulders until they start to ache. Brittany whimpers, needing to be closer to Santana because it’s just hit her what exactly happened today and, right now, Santana feels like the only thing that’s real, the only thing that’s keeping her together.

Santana crawls into her lap and they cling to each other in the firelight, desperately trying to patch up the pieces of the other’s heart even while their own shatters.


	5. and it echoes when I breathe, until all you see is my ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: 34. Returned from the dead kiss

They’ve been travelling for three days since the initial attack when their luck runs out. Brittany’s not surprised, always expecting the worst as they make their way across Pegany, heading for a town on its outskirts; the road is the quickest, though most dangerous, way to get there, and they need speed not safety at the moment.

Lord Tubbington notices it first, his ears twitching back and forth before he tosses his head in the midday sun. Brittany reaches for Santana’s arm and tugs her close, sending her stumbling and almost tripping at the sudden movement. “Hey! What—”

Brittany shakes her head almost violently and Santana falls silent. They’ve always had the ability to communicate without words, something that served them well when they were terrorizing the poor castle staff together, and something that has saved their lives a couple times over the past few days.

“Listen,” Brittany hisses. She tugs on Tubbs’ reins and guides him into a different gait, listening carefully. There’s an echoed delay of hooves before whoever’s following them corrects themselves to match Tubbs’ place.

Santana turns wide eyes on her, and Brittany just tucks Santana under her arm. “Just act normal,” she says.

“Easy for you to say,” she mutters petulantly.

Brittany manages to crack a smile before casually tossing Tubbs’ reins back over his head. “You still have your dagger on you?” Santana nods, her fingers tightening around Brittany’s waist. “Okay, there’s a decent sized cave just off the path, a couple minutes gallop straight ahead. We used to use it for training exercises so it’ll fit Tubbs too. You’re going to take him and get there as fast as you can and hide. Stab first and ask questions later, alright?”

“I’m not going to leave you—”

“Yes, you are,” Brittany interrupts, turning her head to press briefly to Santana’s head. “If something happens to you,” she trails off, her heart thudding uncomfortably at just the thought, “I can’t let that happen, I just _can’t_. So you’re going to run, and I’m going to take care of these guys, alright?”

Santana’s eyes meet hers, dark and determined and stubborn. A drop of rain hits her cheek and she flinches, but never drops her fierce gaze from Brittany’s, searching for something until her shoulders slump forward. “Fine,” she finally concedes, “But if you don’t come back alive I swear to God that I will hunt your ghost down and bring you back so I can kill you again.”

Brittany smiles and tugs Tubbs to a stop. “I wouldn’t expect anything less, My Lady,” she teases. Santana swings up into the saddle and settles herself as Brittany passes the reins over. 

Before Brittany can send them off, Santana leans down to grab ahold of the leather collar of Brittany’s cloak and tug her up, bending in half to kiss Brittany fiercely. “Come back to me alive,” she whispers against Brittany’s lips.

“I will,” Brittany promises even though she knows she shouldn’t, and then before she can think too hard about it she desperately presses her lips against Santana’s again. “I love you,” she breathes, half-hoping her words will be lost to the rain now drizzling around them, and then she’s pushing Santana back up into the saddle and patting Tubbs firmly on his hindquarters to send him galloping off down the path.

She only takes a moment to compose herself before she turns to the path they just walked and draws her sword, patiently waiting in the middle of the road.

It only takes a few more minutes for their pursuers to appear, both on horseback. They slow as they spot her, glancing warily at each other, and Brittany takes a moment to analyze them. Even on horseback, one sits much taller than the other, a long sword at his side that Brittany knows will be trouble. The shorter one wields a sword similar to Brittany’s own, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be any less dangerous. Both men wear light armour for fast, quiet travel, and they ride as if they’ve been formally trained; most peculiarly of all, they have extra fabric to their cloaks that completely conceal their features.

Brittany has a feeling that these aren’t ordinary bandits.

But they stand between her and Santana’s safety, so she simply breathes deeply and swings her sword around her wrist in a challenge.

They exchange another glance before sliding off their respective saddles, giving the horses a sharp command and advancing down the path.

Brittany can feel her blood rush through her veins and then steady, all her nerve endings vibrating and then settling like the hum of a tuning fork. Her first strike sings as it cuts the air and lands with a satisfying clang against the tallest man’s sword. What she lacks in brute strength she makes up for in speed and agility, weaving around her two opponents like they’re performing some kind of dance that only she knows the steps to. Sword fighting has always been something that just made sense to Brittany, her sword an extension of her arm as she lightly steps and parries; it comes second nature to her.

She quickly dodges the taller man’s swing, stepping into him and out of the reach of his longer blade, manoeuvring her own shorter sword in the small space and catching him under the ribs, her blade cutting into the softest spot of his armour. He howls as her sword bites into skin, struggling for a moment before rearing back and kicking at Brittany until he can free himself of Brittany’s sword.

Brittany barely has a moment to breathe before she’s parrying a blow from the shorter man. He’s quicker than the taller man, and more agile too. It feels familiar to clash her sword against his, like she’s fighting herself, except he’s just a little slower in analyzing Brittany’s moves, just a hair behind fully parrying Brittany’s blows. She takes advantage of his delay, pressing him back and sticking quicker and quicker, her sword a whirl of deadly edges and flashes of metal.

The tip of Brittany’s sword misses his cheek but catches the fabric covering his face, tearing a large rip along it and revealing his face. He stumbles back and brings his hand up to whistle for the horses, tugging the fabric back into place even though it’s pointless. Messy brown hair falls on his forehead and blue eyes bore into her own in surprise, a tiny scar running along his jaw that Brittany herself gave him.

Brittany sucks in a sharp breath of shock when she recognizes the man’s face, and her hesitation nearly costs her an arm. She dances out of the way of a fatal swing from the taller man’s longsword but lets out a grunt of pain as the blade rips straight through her leather arm guard and meets delicate flesh. She swings her sword arm up and catches the blade clumsily on her own and shoves it away, barely managing to stop the longsword from biting down to bone, her only saving grace the fact that the taller man is weakened from her earlier blow. Blood instantly wets her arm, pooling under her guard and dripping down her forearm until her fingers are slick with it.

She grits her teeth and quickly strikes back before the man can recover from being pushed off balance, bringing her sword down on his shoulder.

It doesn’t go deep, but it slices easily through the leather, and it’s enough to cause him to howl again, falling to his knees. The shorter man takes a step to Brittany and cuts her sword away, but she quickly steps away from his attack and lands a blow on his thigh. He grunts but stands his ground, holding Brittany off long enough for the taller man to stumble up and painfully crawl back onto his horse. Brittany swings at the shorter man as he retreats, but she’s already exhausted and lost more blood than is probably good for her, so she just lets them escape back the way they came. 

She stumbles to a tree on the side of the path and leans heavily against it, her head spinning from the adrenaline and her wound. She wipes the blood off her sword in the wet grass before sheathing it, ripping a strip of fabric off her already torn shirt and using it as a makeshift bandage. They have salves and bandages in one of the packs, but Brittany has to actually make it to the cave first.

She takes a deep breath and staggers back onto the road. The rain is coming down hard now, and she’s already soaked as she navigates the muddy path. It takes longer than she was hoping to reach the cave, and it’s long past dark by the time she falls at the entrance, a small fire at the back of the cave casting the rock walls in reds and oranges.

A blade appears under her chin before she can even process it, pressing into her throat enough to draw a thin line of blood.

“Good,” she chuckles, “You’re stabbing first and asking questions later.”

“Brittany!” Santana gasps, quickly sheathing her dagger and falling to her knees. Warm hands press to her chilled skin as she draws Brittany’s face up, fingers fluttering along all the little cuts littering her skin. Brittany sighs at the attention, soaking up Santana’s care like she’s been starving for it. Desperate lips press to hers in a bruising kiss, and Brittany can do little more than whimper and let Santana tip her head back. Santana’s hands tangle in her hair and warm drops of water fall on her cheeks—tears, she realizes belatedly. She paws feebly at Santana’s hip, trying to return Santana’s embrace despite how weak she feels. “I thought you were dead,” Santana gasps against her mouth, barely giving Brittany time to suck in a deep breath before she’s kissing the air right out of her again.

A soft sob against her lips jolts Brittany back into full awareness and she manages to clumsily grip at Santana’s hip. “I’m okay,” she mumbles, kissing her life back into Santana, “I’m right here, I made it back.”

Santana finally pulls away with a choked little gasp, burying her head in Brittany’s neck. Brittany’s hands wrap around Santana’s arm, and she pulls back in shock at the sticky wetness clinging to her skin. The blood shines dark in the firelight, and Brittany only seems to blink before she’s being propped against the cave wall, the small fire providing much needed warmth to Brittany’s rain-chilled body.

“Santana,” she mumbles, reaching for the woman now crouched over her with clean cloth and a water canteen. “I need to— They were—”

“Shh,” Santana soothes, leaning forward to quickly kiss Brittany silent, lingering a little as if she still can’t believe that Brittany’s alive, “Later.”

“No, Santana, listen—”

“Brittany, you’re—”

Brittany grits her teeth and grabs desperately at Santana’s hands, stilling her fussing. “They weren’t ordinary bandits, Santana,” she says urgently, “I _knew_ one of them. I trained with him, I lived in the barracks with him, I fought with him. He was the only person I knew from home back when we were recruits. He was my _friend_.”

Santana blinks and shakes her head, warm fingers brushing Brittany’s hair away from her face before she gently cups her jaw. “What are you saying, Britt?” she asks quietly. The firelight reflects growing worry and fear in her dark eyes.

Brittany sucks in a sharp breath and shakes her head disbelievingly, clutching desperately at Santana’s arm and smearing even more blood along the white fabric. “This isn’t just some border skirmish. This came from the inside, Santana. This is treason.”


	6. we sleep until the sun goes down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: 11. “I almost lost you” Kiss

Santana stares blankly at Brittany for a long moment. “Treason?” she finally manages to croak.

“They hid their faces,” Brittany explains through gritted teeth. “I managed to cut away the fabric and as soon as I recognized him, they both fled. I have a feeling the other man must be a traitor too. He must be because other wise why would he hide his face? I just can’t figure out why they would—”

Santana’s fingers are warm against her cheek as she guides Brittany’s face towards hers. “You’re rambling,” she says gently.

Brittany gives Santana a lopsided smile. “Blood loss does that to me.”

Santana shakes her head. “You’re insane,” she says fondly, “Let me clean the cut, okay?”

Brittany grins and brings her injured arm to her lap, painfully slipping her ruined leather guard off and cradling it in her other arm. The sleeve is torn above her elbow from where she ripped her shirt for the bandage, revealing torn, pale flesh. Santana sucks in a sharp breath as she takes stock of Brittany’s injury. She’s unfortunately used to helping wounded soldiers, part of her training as a marchioness involved studying under the castle healer—Lady Maribel was never one to shy away from helping her people, and she is one of the most gifted healers in the march and surrounding counties, so she ensured that her daughter was unafraid of doing simple stitches and setting breaks and cleaning wounds whenever soldiers limped back wounded from a border skirmish.

“You good?” Brittany whispers.

“Yeah,” Santana says distractedly, “It’s not the worst I’ve seen it’s just—” Her eyes meet Brittany’s with such concern and pain that Brittany’s chest aches. “It’s different when it’s you.” Brittany makes a small sound of agreement, and then Santana’s blinking away her hesitation as her eyes darken with concentration.

Brittany glances down at her own arm and grows a little woozy herself. The cut is jagged from how unevenly the longsword sliced through her leather guard, the flesh torn and angry. It’s still weeping blood, but it’s not gushing which Brittany thinks is a good thing; she’s good at giving and receiving wounds, not treating them, and she really, _really_ doesn’t like how she can see inside her arm. “I think I’m going to be sick,” she mumbles, turning her head away.

Santana chuckles as she pulls all kinds of salves and bandages and other things Brittany doesn’t know the name of from one of the packs. “Then don’t look at it, you dope. You know for a knight you sure get weird around wounds.”

“Yeah,” Brittany mumbles, the wave of nausea passing. “When I’m fighting it’s so much less,” she nods vaguely at her arm and pulls a face, “gross.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Santana says fondly. She holds up a cloth to Brittany’s face, rolling her eyes when Brittany wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “It’s soaked in whiskey,” she explains, “It’ll help with the pain and you can bite down on it so you don’t scream.”

Brittany nods and opens her mouth, allowing Santana to carefully arrange it so she can still talk, but so she can bite down on it if needed. “This is going to hurt, isn’t it?” Brittany mumbles.

“Sorry,” is all Santana says, which isn’t comforting at all. She takes Brittany’s injured arm and holds it out to the side, picking up a canteen of water and pouring it over the wound. Brittany gasps and bites down on the cloth in her mouth, muffling her scream. “Sorry,” Santana mutters again. She takes a clean strip of cloth and brushes it over the wound, gentle but firm as she scrubs away dried blood and mud. She flushes it with water again before inspecting it critically, gently scrubbing away the last of the debris. “This one will hurt the most,” she says, ducking forward to press a quick kiss to Brittany’s pale cheek. She grabs a bottle of something and quickly flushes the wound one more time, and Brittany almost passes out as her arm explodes in a wave of pain that sets her nerves on fire, before it finally subsides to a dull tingling throb.

“What was that?” she croaks.

“Distilled alcohol,” Santana answers as she dries Brittany’s arm, “It’ll help with infection and keep it clean.”

“Sweet mother of all that is holy,” Brittany hisses, “It’s still stinging. Why is it still stinging?”

Santana pouts sympathetically at her and leans forward to press another kiss to Brittany’s cheek. “That’s the worst of it,” she promises as she pulls back and turns to her bag, “I just have to stitch it up and then put a salve on it, and then you’re all done.”

“Thank God,” Brittany mumbles. “Wait,” she spits the cloth out of her mouth and looks sharply at Santana, “You’re stitching it?”

Santana smirks as she threads a needle. “What’s the matter, Dame Brittany?” she asks innocently.

“I’ve seen your embroidery and—” she cuts herself off, wondering what the punishment for insulting a marchioness is all the way out here.

Santana snickers and scouts forward a little, cradling Brittany’s arm in her lap. “No time like the present to learn,” she teases.

Brittany groans and rolls her eyes, banging her head back against the wall. “Just, try not to do a dolphin. They all end up looking like sharks.”

Santana presses the tip of the needle to Brittany’s skin. “No promises.”

She’s efficient as she sews Brittany’s skin back together, and after the fiery pain of the distilled alcohol, her arm is actually kind of numb. The needle going through her skin is just a dull, distant prickling now, and she marvels at how good Santana is at stitching people back together—despite how awful she is at embroidery.

“Who was the man?” Santana asks suddenly.

“Mmm?”

“The one you recognized,” she clarifies, “Who was he?”

Brittany swallows and drops her gaze for a moment. “Sir Rory,” she says quietly, “Though I guess he kind of renounced his title, didn’t he?”

“It was Rory?” Santana mumbles, “That kid that you were stationed with when you first came back?”

“Yeah,” Brittany says bitterly, “Hell of a lot good sending us out to the border freshly knighted did.” The scar on Brittany’s side twinges in agreement. “He’d been kind of weird after that battle, especially once we were re-stationed at the castle. Guess the Athians must have recruited him when we were on the border.”

“Do you think,” Santana trails off, afraid to voice her fears.

“I don’t want to believe it,” Brittany says quietly, “But I don’t know how else they managed that attack unless they have a lot of people on the inside.”

Santana sighs and nods. Glancing back to Brittany’s arms and finishing up the stitches in silence. She inspects her work before pulling out her dagger and carefully cutting the thread. She creates a mixture of salves and applies it to the neatly stitched up wound, wrapping a bandage firmly around Brittany’s arm from elbow to wrist. “There,” she murmurs, her eyes cutting up to meet Brittany’s with a tiny smile, “Good as new.”

“Thank you,” Brittany whispers.

Santana nods and before Brittany can say anything else, Santana’s lips are pressed desperately against hers, warm and frantic and rough. A tongue runs across her bottom lip and she whimpers as she parts her lips and allows Santana to practically consume her. Her mouth moves as if her lips are saying something her voice can’t, as if Brittany will be able to taste the things between the lines, and Brittany desperately tries to listen and understand before Santana stops talking.

Santana tastes of fear and desperation and hope. She tastes of love.

“What was that for?” Brittany gasps breathlessly as soon as Santana pulls away, her lips tingling as much as her arm and her heart practically pounding out of her chest.

“I almost lost you,” Santana whispers, her hot breath ghosting across Brittany’s face and causing her to shudder almost violently. “I know you keep saying you can’t lose me but Britt—” Santana cuts herself off and pulls away enough that she can meet Brittany’s eyes, midnight blue in the fading firelight. “I can’t lose you either, okay?”

Brittany feels her entire body flush at the words, and it’s not quite a confession of undying love but, with how deep and warm and insistent Santana’s eyes are, she thinks it might be something better. “Okay,” she croaks.

Santana kisses her again, softer and sweeter this time, before she reaches for another clean cloth and douses it in water, reaching for Brittany’s chin to guide her head to the side so she can clean all the little cuts that litter her face.

“We’ll have to start travelling by night,” Brittany decides aloud, trying to gather her scattered thoughts and force them through still tingling lips, and only partially succeeding. “It will be safer that way. Less chance of a repeat of this,” she gestures to her arm.

“For how long?” Santana asks.

Brittany lets Santana manhandle her face as she applies the salve to some of the bigger cuts on her face as she maps Pegany out in her mind. “We need to get to Katon.”

“That’s still days away,” Santana says quietly. “Or, nights away, I suppose.”

“I know,” Brittany acknowledges, equally as quietly, “But they have the best system of messengers. And if we warn them then hopefully they’ll be able to spread the word.”

“And then what?”

Brittany sighs and stares straight ahead for a long time, before finally meeting Santana’s eyes in the flickering fire light. “And then, we head for the capital.”


	7. in the fall, we sleep all day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: 6. “I’m sorry” Kiss

Brittany wakes up to something nuzzling her head and the worst case of morning breath she’s ever had the displeasure to smell.

“You need to chew more mint leaves, Santana,” she complains, rolling to bury her face further into her sleeping roll.

“I feel like I should be insulted by that,” a voice says mildly from across the cave.

Brittany’s eyes flutter open and she meets the wrong pair of soulful brown eyes. Lord Tubbington nuzzles the side of her head and tries to chew on some of Brittany’s hair. She swats him away from her face, and he snorts and teasingly tosses his head. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Brittany groans, “I already know I’m in trouble, you don’t need to rub it in.”

“Will you let me check your arm or do I have to go foraging for mint first?” Santana asks wryly.

“Well you fell asleep right where Tubbs was nuzzling me,” Brittany defends, “so really it’s your fault for moving and confusing me.”

Santana looks less than impressed as she crosses the cave, but her dark eyes hold love and amusement despite her scowl. Brittany smiles lazily up at her, slipping her hand around the back of Santana’s knee to keep her close. “You’re on thin ice,” Santana warns.

Brittany tickles at the sensitive spot where Santana’s knee meets her thigh, watching as Santana bites down on her lip to try and contain the shiver Brittany knows she always feels whenever something tickles the spot. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

Santana raises an eyebrow as she gazes down at Brittany, causing something warm and tingling to curl low in Brittany’s stomach. “I’m sure you could think of something,” she says haughtily.

Brittany smirks and curls her hand more firmly around Santana’s leg, sliding it up to her thigh and tugging insistently. “Come here,” she coaxes.

Santana rolls her eyes and allows herself to be brought down until she’s crouched beside Brittany. “What?” she says, her expression completely unimpressed except for the fondness in her eyes that she can’t quite hide.

Brittany carefully maneuvers her wounded arm out of the way and uses her good arm to grab the collar of Santana’s shirt and tug her down. Santana lets out a surprised noise as she tumbles forward, catching herself with an arm on each side of Brittany’s ribs, her chiding complaint muffled against Brittany’s lips as she uses Santana’s collar to guide their mouths together.

“I’m sorry,” Brittany apologizes cheekily, mumbling her words against Santana’s mouth.

Santana nips at her bottom lip in retaliation, and Brittany quickly loses control of the kiss as Santana presses further into her. With only one arm functioning, she can’t hold Santana the way she wants to, so she just uses her good arm to touch as much of her as she can; running hr fingers through slightly tangled hair, tracing along her spine, drawing swirling patterns from her hip to her thigh, skimming under the hem of her shirt.

It’s still raining outside, blocking out the outside world and amplifying ever little sigh and whimper they make as they nudge into each other, their noses and foreheads and the peaks of their cheeks pressed together. Santana allows herself to settle over Brittany, pressing the lengths of their bodies together, ever mindful of Brittany’s wounded arm.

Santana gasps and slides off of Brittany, landing curled up against Brittany’s side and chuckling against her jaw. Brittany blinks at the sudden loss of soft lips against hers, and is met by Lord Tubbington nibbling at her ear. She glares at the horse, who looks thoroughly unimpressed. “Jerk,” she mutters moodily, turning to bury her face in Santana’s neck.

Santana’s body shakes with laughter against hers as she wraps her arms around Brittany, tugging her even closer. “How’s your arm?”

“Sore,” Brittany mumbles against soft, warm skin, “Like, kind of really sore.”

Santana makes a noise of sympathy and kisses Brittany’s forehead, letting her lips linger there as she speaks, “I’ll put more salve on when I change the bandages. I think there’s something I can use for numbing in the pack.”

“Thanks,” Brittany says, nuzzling further into Santana until she’s warm and more comfortable than she’s ever been. “We’ll wait until night before we pack up and keep moving.”

“Oh no, not a chance,” Santana immediately argues, dislodging Brittany from her neck as she pulls back. She pokes Brittany in the chest, allowing Brittany to catch her hand as it flattens out over her heart, the beat strong and steady against Santana’s palm. “We’re spending one more day resting so your arm at least has a chance to heal a little bit before you jump back into battle,” Santana says with no room for argument. “And don’t you even start with me. We can afford one day.” Santana ducks down and kisses her so gently that any argument that Brittany had dissipates like fog in the morning sun.

“Okay,” she finally concedes once Santana pulls back and presses their foreheads together, “We’ll wait until tomorrow night.”

“You say as if you have any choice in the matter,” Santana mutters teasingly before kissing her firmly again.

Brittany decides that, despite the fact that she’d feel a lot better if they were constantly on the move, spending the day kissing Santana definitely isn’t the worst way to heal.


	8. can you chase the fire away?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: 55. True Love Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the last chapter of this story until the next time I take prompts. This is the natural breaking place in this story, but it is definitely not the end, I promise. I just want to focus on my other wips and post some of those before I start taking prompts again!

Brittany’s wound is healing nicely by the time they reach Katon, and Santana finally stops tutting disapprovingly whenever Brittany uses her arm. The sun is rising as they approach the edges of the village, the sounds of people waking up and starting the day echoing towards them.

They head straight for the castle, and it only takes Santana flashing her dagger bearing the Lopez family crest for them to gain admittance. An eager squire steps up to take Lord Tubbington to the stables, getting special instructions from Brittany to pamper the gelding and to place his saddle, brindle, and their restocked packs in the stall after he’s done. The squire hesitates for only a moment before he catches Santana’s cold look, the cold edge that’s always lingered around Lady Santana scaring him into action.

“He’s going to have nightmares about the Marchioness murdering him with one look,” Brittany says mildly, trailing a respectful couple of steps behind Santana.

Santana rolls her eyes and sends Brittany an unimpressed look, her features stoic and regal despite the dirt smudged across her face and her tangled hair. If Brittany didn’t know Santana as well as she does she might be worried that the Marchioness would send her to be executed for that comment, but there’s amusement and adoration dancing in her dark eyes that makes Brittany bite back a smile.

They’re taken straight to Lord Katon’s council room, and Brittany keeps her hand resting on the hilt of her sword, eyeing any guard who strays too close or whose eyes linger too long. She maps the castle out in her head, making note of every servant stairwell they pass in case they need to flee quickly. Santana may have known Lord Katon since they were kids, but that doesn’t mean that Brittany trusts him; she’s learned the hard way that even the people you think you know can surprise you in the worst way.

Lord Katon and his personal guard are already waiting for them, the line of guards along the sides of the room quickly straightening to attention as the Baron and the Marchioness formally greet each other. Lord Katon nods at the knights standing at attention along the wall, who hesitate for only a moment before they turn and file out the door. As soon as the door clicks shut, the Baron turns back to Brittany and Santana and his shoulders relax as his personal guard steps up beside him.

“Lady Santana,” he says immediately, gesturing towards the chairs in the room, “I have a feeling that you are not here lightly.”

Santana glances back at Brittany for a moment before turning back to the Baron and taking a seat. “We have a lot to discuss, Mike,” she sighs.

Brittany opts to keep standing, hovering just over Santana’s shoulder with a hand on her sword; his personal guard does the same, standing just behind her own liege. Santana quickly recounts everything that’s happened in the past fortnight, leaving no detail out—aside from the more personal details that might have made Brittany blush too deeply in the presence of the Baron.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of retelling how Santana and her fled from the castle; Lord Katon sends off messengers to every corner of the kingdom and orders his head of guard to start reinforcing the castle and village. Katon doesn’t have nearly enough knights to make an army; they barely have enough knights to protect themselves, and certainly not from an invading army—but Brittany keeps her doubts to herself. The look Santana shoots her way means that she’s thinking the same thing, but they’re both just as helpless in this situation as they were when they first fled from their home.

Lord Katon gives them a room for the night, and both of them trudge exhaustedly up to it after the long day and even longer couple of weeks. There’s fresh clothing for the both of them on a dresser in the corner, and there’s already a hot bath drawn for them in the bathroom. There’s a pair of new leather arm guards for Brittany, and the tools and oils she needs to care for her armour. Santana heads to the bathroom to bathe first, allowing Brittany the time she needs to tend to her armour and clean her sword, focusing on the task more fiercely than usual to distract her from thinking about the fact that Santana is naked in the next room. 

Santana emerges with a towel wrapped around her just as Brittany’s finishing up, her dark hair dripping water down her temptingly smooth skin. “Your turn,” Santana says smugly, a knowing smirk on her face as Brittany stumbles a little on her way to the bathroom, blushing deeply all the way. 

The water is still hot by the time Brittany strips out of the rest of her clothes and sinks into the tub, hissing as all the little cuts along her body burn from the heat. She takes the cloth that’s draped over the side of the tub and carefully cleans the mostly healed wound on her arm, focusing so intently that she doesn’t hear Santana walk into the bathroom until hands are on her bare shoulders.

She shrieks and slops water over the side of the tub as she jumps away, rolling her eyes when Santana’s laughter reaches her ears and trying to ignore her rapidly beating heart. “What are you doing?” she snaps, hunching forward to try and hide most of her body. 

“Washing your hair,” Santana says as if it’s something they’ve always done, “I’m sure your arm is still sore.”

It is, but it’s not sore enough that Brittany can’t wash her own hair, except Santana’s fingers are already massaging her scalp and Brittany finds any argument she has dissipating like fog in the sunlight. She lets out an involuntary moan and sinks further into the water, letting Santana tip her head back and clean the dirt and grim out of her hair. Santana’s fingers feel like heaven as she moves from washing her hair to just playing with it, scrunching and curling the wet strands until she finally squeezes out the excess water and braids the blonde hair back into Brittany’s usual style.

“Why’d you stop?” Brittany whines, finally letting her eyes flutter open with a pout.

Santana’s eyes are darker than she’s ever seen, and Brittany swallows thickly as Santana’s face nears her, kissing her so deeply that the world around them fades away, everything stilling and tuning to them until Santana’s lips on hers is the only thing she knows.

Her mother used to tell her that true love is when a single soul inhabits two bodies, and she never really understood what that meant until now, with Santana’s lips warm against hers as if she was giving a little piece of her soul back with every kiss, she finally understands why her mother always told her that there’s still magic in this world.

“We should get some rest,” Santana whispers breathlessly as she pulls away, waiting until Brittany’s eyes flutter open, “And that means you have to put some clothes on before I jump you.”

Brittany stops breathing for a moment, her eyes caught on Santana’s unfathomably dark ones. She manages to regain some coherent thought once Santana slowly retreats from the bathroom, and quickly steps out of the bath and wraps a towel around herself. “I didn’t realize Mike is the Baron now,” she calls to try and regain some semblance of normalcy.

“Lord Katon died a couple months ago,” Santana explains, knowing that Brittany rarely keeps up with the latest comings and goings of the aristocracy, “Mike has since taken over. And he doesn’t have a stick up his ass like his father did.”

Brittany gasps a choked laugh, muffling her giggles against her towel as she dries her face. “You’ve been spending far too much time with me, My Lady.”

Santana snorts, “Or not enough time.”

Brittany grins and dresses in the nightclothes left in the bathroom for her, sighing at the feel of fresh, soft cotton on her clean body. It feels so nice to finally feel clean again after weeks of travel, and she imagines that it will feel even nicer to finally sleep on a real bed again, so she quickly blows out the candles in the bathroom and heads for the bedroom. Santana’s in the middle of brushing the wet tangles out of her dark hair, sitting cross-legged on the big bed, the flickering candle on the bedside table casting her in golden light. She smiles at Brittany, who glances at the bed intended for her in the corner before rolling her eyes at Santana’s snort of amusement and crossing the room to crawl onto the large bed behind Santana.

“Let me,” she murmurs, taking the brush from Santana’s hands. Santana offers her a small smile and sinks back into Brittany, humming contently as Brittany gently works the knots out of her hair until it’s soft and damp against her back.

“I’m so tired,” Santana mumbles sleepily, her eyes half-closed as Brittany tosses the hairbrush on the side table.

“It’s been a long couple weeks,” Brittany agrees, resting her chin on Santana’s shoulder and sighing as Santana sinks back into her embrace. “We deserve a long rest.” Santana hums in agreement, her eyes fluttering closed contently and snuggling closer to Brittany, practically in her lap. “Let’s go to sleep,” Brittany whispers, tugging them up to the head of the bed. Santana clumsily crawls under the covers as Brittany leans over to blow the candle out before crawling under the covers herself.

Santana immediately curls into Brittany’s side, slinging an arm across her stomach and burying her face in her neck. She mumbles something that sounds like _goodnight_ , her body growing heavier against Brittany’s as she almost instantly falls asleep, her steady breaths tickling at Brittany’s neck as she quickly follows suite.

//

It feels like she’s barely slept when Brittany wakes to the smell of smoke. She stays still, cracking her eyes open and scanning the room but finding everything the same. Santana’s nose wrinkles against her neck as she wakes to Brittany’s movement.

“What’s going on?” she mumbles with a pout, reaching sleepily for Brittany.

Brittany shakes her head as she slides from the bed. “I don’t know, but nothing good.”

Santana sits up, a little more awake than before as she follows Brittany to the side of their room. “Is that smoke?”

Brittany nods wordlessly, throwing the doors open and stepping barefoot out onto the balcony, both of them gasping at the sight that greets them.

It’s still dark out, the moon high in the sky, but the horizon is lit like the sun is rising behind it. Smoke fills their lungs, thick and choking as it pours into the valley, originating from the bright fire blazing through the forest. Red and orange licks at the sky, a foreign war-chant echoing across the valley as the forest burns behind the Athian army.

“Is that—” Santana cuts herself off, as if not speaking it will make it not true.

“They’re here,” Brittany whispers, “They’re already here.”

//

END OF PART 1


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